


Trust

by Blackberry



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BDSM (mentioned), Blood, Caring John, Chloroform, Flashbacks, Forehead Touching, Gen, Hospital, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, John in soldier-mode, John is a Very Good Doctor, Medical Procedures, PTSD John, Panic Attacks, Sedation, Sherlock trusts John, Shock, Trust, case at out of order sex club, dungeon interior, emergency surgery, huge trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackberry/pseuds/Blackberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John investigate in a shut-down sex club and Sherlock gets hurt.<br/>This takes place during Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The club

**Author's Note:**

> The characters do not belong to me, no copyright infringement intended. I don't make any money with this, just playing with them a bit. This applies to all chapters and all my stories.

The case had started with the death of a stabbed PA in what turned out to be one of the most expensive erotic clubs in Britain.

Lestrade had been the leading detective and in the beginning everyone had thought it must have been a simple burglary because money was missing, until a second victim was found. That day Lestrade called Sherlock Holmes.

 

“What happened?” Sherlock greeted the inspector, who was waiting in the back of what looked like a first-rate hotel.

“Sherlock, promise me we will do this discretely and professional.”

“I’m always professional, Lestrade.”

“Depends on the definition of professional, I suppose…. We will go in at the back and ignore the normal business that goes on, we will _not_ disrupt it. The homicide happened in a sealed off level. If we need to asks the guests later we can. They were informed that they are supposed to stay and the building is heavily guarded.”

“Why all the fuss? Just arrest everyone and let’s see what happens.” Sherlock suggested.

"Yeah well, slight problem there. Three really high ranking diplomats just happen to be guests at the club….  and two undercover agents. We can’t just simply storm in. This needs to be done carefully.”

“OK, he will behave.” John nodded.

“Will I?”

“Yes, you will.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Stabbed male in a room on the fifth level, which is currently sealed and taken off business because of major renovation work that needed to be done after a fire four weeks ago. This is odd because two weeks ago we found a stabbed PA on the same level, she was working there in the middle of the morning, cataloguing the damaged equipment with a janitor. The janitor went down to get some additional lighting for some of the rooms, when he came back she had been stabbed. His alibi turned out to be reliable.”

They entered the building, lead by a tall man in a tailored suit.

“This is Mr. Lambert, one of the four owners of the club. He found the victim.”

The distressed man nodded. His features were charismatic and he looked more like a well groomed James Bond villain than a manager.

They headed upstairs.

“Wow.” John mumbled when they entered the level.

The interior reminded him of pictures of old luxury hotels, red carpet with gold floral designs, spotless tapestry and large spaces in the hallways were guests might sit and chat.

“Where was the fire?” The consultant detective asked.

“Down that hall. Although all used materials are certified for reducing fire hazards or don’t burn at all, seven rooms burned down completely, fifteen other ones were damaged by smoke or heat. The fire extinguishing system worked only partially, which was odd already.”

“It was officially tested by the insurance company.” Lestrade added. "The idea that there might have been some manipulation popped up, but they found no evidence at all.”

"Yeah, we were lucky. Medical equipment including  high combustible liquids are stored and used at the other end of the hall, down there.” The manager pointed towards the opposite direction of the destroyed area.

“Medical equipment?” John wanted to know.

“Yes, antiseptics, ether, laughing gas and so on.”

“What?”

“It’s OK, they have a license.” Lestrade informed.

“What are they used for?” The doctor asked.

“We have a small, fully equipped infirmary down the hall. Sometimes accidents happen when people play a bit too wildly. We employ a doctor and a nurse to serve our customer’s needs discretely should they need medical assistance. There are also three playrooms for medical…. play, fully equipped. In between those two areas are several storage rooms where all needed things are correctly stored.”

John’s mouth was gaping a bit, maybe he was given more information than he had wanted, the manager had not seen his expression, yet.

Sherlock widened his eyes in warning, which made John close his mouth and smile politely.

“The dead man was redecorating and painting one of the lesser damaged rooms. The other ones were planned to be stripped and cleared tomorrow. The rest of the team - three more men - were out to buy equipment. When they came back the man was missing, after going through every room they found him in an ensuite room far down the hall, dead, in the bathroom.”

They inspected the body and spoke to the janitor, who had the only key card to the door that lead to the areas of the club that were busy and not shut down at the moment. The decorators and painters had no access, and the computer system stated that the door between the areas hadn’t been opened and also that none of the exit doors had been all.

The manager left them at the security man’s office and handed Lestrade a key cards for the level as well as a phone number for his cell phone. 

They decided to search all rooms and Lestrade ordered three more detectives over to help them.

After five hours of combing through the ’normal’ rooms John wondered if there was any chance they would get home tonight.

“Let’s get into the medical playrooms, I see you are interested.” The genius mumbled.

“Blimey, no!” John felt his face flush.

“You suggest I search all rooms but not those ones because your sense of…. Shame?”

“I am not ashamed!… Just… this is not…. How I want to think of medicine.”

“Well, there is also specially equipped bathrooms for preparation, four BDSM rooms, two….”

“I don’t want to know.” John moaned.

“Come on, this will be interesting.”

“I….”

“You are not asked to use them, just to search them, doctor.”

Lestrade and Sally were down the hall searching contra clockwise while they did the other way.

"Sherlock, I did tell you that situations like these could be awkward for persons who actually have a sex life?”

“Why?”

“Because those things are supposed to be private….. Or the simple sight of sex toys could make one aroused.”

“You are afraid to…..” Sherlock gaze wandered to John’s groin.

“Sherlock!” John protested.

“Have you ever used rooms like those?… The BDSM stuff I mean, it is obvious you would under no circumstances go for the medical stuff.”

“Could you lower your voice. No need to give Sally more gossip topics.”

“Well. I can go in there alone  if it is too… dangerous for you.”

“No.”

“So you are curious.”

“Shut up and lets go, the BDSM and the other non-medical theme rooms first, please.”

It turned out to be interesting in fact. John was also a bit astounded by how Sherlock went in there with only curiosity, he once more realized Sherlock had an enormous theoretical knowledge about the varieties of sexual activities, and no shame to ask the few things he did not know. The bright normal light in the rooms changed the atmosphere profoundly. John had expected it to be dark and cozy but the so-called ‘cleaning lights’ were bright and robbing the rooms of any kind of an arousing atmosphere.

 

When they met Lestrade and Sally two hours later they had learned a lot about that things looked like, they never had expected to see close up and how a large complex like this was dealing with sexual needs on a pricey and professional level. Sherlock had been right. He had been curious, even if he hadn’t been ready to admit it. Also his curiosity had been rewarded.

Sally seemed uneasy though they had mainly inspected the ‘normal’ rooms and bar areas.

“Found something interesting?” She mocked.

“Quite a lot, yes, Sally.” Sherlock threw in an unnerved and obviously faked smile. "Nothing concerning the case, though.”

Half an hour later they left the scene. The body had been transported to the morgue and they agreed to meet in the morgue in the morning.

 

Sherlock and John went home and the usual fight over Sherlock not wanting to eat during a case ensued. While John was watching something on television Sherlock sat on his armchair next to him deep in thoughts, probably going through every room again in his mind and wondering if the perpetrator had hidden there somewhere or how he got out.

“Oh! ”

Thirty minutes into John’s movie Sherlock jumped up and fetched his phone and his coat.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?”

“We are going back?”

“What? Are you nuts?”

“He’s still there.”

“How do you know it’s a he?… and where?” John fetched his jacket, a bit unnerved. He was really tired.

Sherlock stormed down the stairs and didn’t answer.

They were in a cab two minutes later and Sherlock called Lestrade.

“Yes…. I know where he hides…. No, I am sure it is not a ghost, Lestrade….. Yes, we will wait outside for you…. Thirty minutes, OK.”

When they arrived five minutes later Sherlock had not bothered to take the trouble to explain his thoughts to John, he headed straight to the door.

When he produced a key card and pulled it through the lock John gasped.

“Sherlock! You nicked it from Lestrade?”

“No, I nicked it from the janitor, mainly because I wanted to be sure we are the only ones who have access.”

“Oh.” The former soldier followed him up the stairs.

“Quiet now.” Sherlock opened the door to the level an entered.

They headed directly to one of the play rooms, as quiet as possible.

When Sherlock crossed the dungeon style room next to one of the medical rooms John could hear noises from the adjacent bathroom. He felt the adrenaline pumping and removed the safety from his gun. Sherlock was as usual not armed.

The dim light used for playing was switched on in the room.

When they reached the door it flew open and knocked Sherlock in the face unexpectedly. John tried to understand what was happening. The room behind the door was pitch black and while Sherlock’s tried to blink away the pain he cursed silently. They had been discovered and the man was in there. John took a step back to be in a better shooting position. They were both taking cover when a dark figure emerged and jumped onto Sherlock. They fell to the ground wrestling which made it impossible for John to shoot.

Sherlock was trained in in-fighting but the guy was fast and the moment John realized Sherlock was not getting the upper hand immediately he stepped closer to knock the man out at the first chance he got.

Instead a struggling foot hit him full force on the ankle of his bad leg and made him loose balance.

When he rolled to prevent further injuries he heard a surprised gasp and the villain rolled of Sherlock. John tried to raise his weapon but before he got the chance he was pushed out of the way with brutal force. The man was unexpectedly strong.

John tried to get up when he realized Sherlock wasn’t.

“Sherlock?” John yelled.

“Check the bathroom for more! Go after him!” Sherlock moaned and it made John stop in his tracks. This was not good. John switched on the light and the bathroom was empty.

"GO! I am fine.” Sherlock shouted and a key card flew in his direction. John caught it and ran out of the room. He saw the man round a corner and ran after him.

When he reached the corner he listened. He had not heard the heavy door to the staircase close which meant the man might be waiting for him behind the next corner.

He made a decision.

On his way back to the dungeon he fumbled for his phone and made sure none was coming up behind him. It was spooky. He felt himself reminded of the movie ‘Shining’.

He entered the dungeon and locked the door. He had dialed Lestrade before he reached Sherlock.

Sherlock was on the ground, not moving, his coat splayed around him.

“Oh shit!” A large hunting knife was protruding from Sherlock’s left thigh, embedded almost to the hilt.


	2. Preparing to barricade

“Shit, shit, shit!” John knelt down. "Sherlock?”

The detective didn’t react and Lestrade picked up on the other end.

“Sherlock?”

“John? What happened?… John?”

The former soldier was not able to answer, he fumbled to feel Sherlock’s pulse and inspect the wound.

“Sherlock! Answer me goddammit!”

“John!”

“Lestrade!…. Lestrade?… Sherlock has been stabbed. Looks not good. Call security and tell them to seal off the level, I need an ambulance and…. He might be still in here… Shit….”

Sherlock’s pulse was thready and John suspected he would fall into shock soon. “Shit…. We are in the dungeon next to the infirmary, I followed him but when I didn’t hear the fire door I made a retreat because I feared an ambush…. ETA?”

The former soldier heard Lestrade bark orders while he looked around for a first aid kit.

_Shouldn’t there be one in rooms like this?_

The knife still firmly embedded inside prevented the wound to bleed too much, though the floor was already ruined.

“Shit…. Sherlock?” He patted the genius’s cheeks. “Come on.”

“John, ETA fifteen minutes. Ambulance might be there earlier but we can’t let them before we get hold of the suspect. Might need some time. Thirty minutes if we find him fast, can you hold on that long.”

“OK…. OK…I don’t know… hurry.” John’s thoughts were dashing though his mind. He felt how his mind switched into combat doctor mode without consulting him.

_Infirmary._

He needed to still the bleeding. The knife was too close to the major artery. He could not even half that long, he needed to still the bleeding now!

“I will call you back in five minutes. We will hurry.” Lestrade hung up and John felt awfully alone.

“Fuck!” He whispered. “Sherlock? Can you hear me?”

He needed to get medical equipment or get Sherlock to the infirmary.

 _It was both risky_.

_Moving Sherlock wasn_ _’_ _t an option. The slightest movement could nick the artery… the ambulance crew would probably not transport him because it was too risky anyway. So he needed to get out there and get the stuff._

In best soldier manner he sneaked to the door and listened.

_Damn, everything here was designed to swallow sounds._

The man could be standing outside and John would not hear him at all.

_No choice._

John switched off the light and readied his weapon. He knelt down and opened the door slowly, prepared to what might lure outside, in his direct line of sight there was nothing.

He moved silently and looked the other direction while he listened carefully.

None in sight.

Luckily it was a few meters to the next corner. He would see somebody coming at least fifteen seconds before he was at his side. Should he leave the door open and therefore leave Sherlock vulnerable to an intruder? He decided to keep both doors open and keep his eyes on the hall.

He entered the infirmary, switched on the light and made sure no one was in there, too, before entering.

He grabbed a large emergency doctor bag from the entrance area and headed for a cabinet that usually contained sterilized instruments.

_Bingo! Clamps and Scissors and scalpels where they should be._

There were also bottles of disinfectant and some additional bandages from the adjacent drawer.

_Gosh, this place was really well equipped._

Every few seconds he looked through the open door down the hall for any signs of movement.

_Anesthetics?_

He needed drugs, but found none.

_Of course, the stuff would be in a locked cabinet in the storage area, which was also locked. The key card would probably open the room but not the solid metal cabinet which was normally used to store medication._

Then he spotted a bottle of chloroform on the counter, looked as if it had been recently used because a mask-formed metal object was next to it. He grabbed the bottle and the thing that looked like a small bowl made of fine wire with smoothed edges.

He better not though about how this was usually used here but it was better than nothing.

When he heard a low noise his eyes fixated on the hallway and he shoved all the stuff inside the bag and killed the light. With the weapon ready he left the room and crossed the three meters of the hall.  
After re-entering the dungeon he looked around carefully for intruders before locking the door once more.

Only Sherlock was here.

The phone rang.

_Oh, god, he had forgotten about that!_

He sighed, glad that Lestrade had not had the bad timing to call him seconds before, broadcasting his vulnerable position through the whole silent level.

“Greg?” John panted.

“John? How are you holding up? What happened? Why are you panting?” Greg’s voice broadcasted he was worried.

“I found emergency stuff, I will take care of him, now. I locked the door but I want to block it in case he has an universal key card.” John was already on his way to the door. Looking for a way to block it securely.

“Five more minutes before we are there. Ambulance already at the scene. I will call before we get in.”

While John was still busy trying to block the door he heard Sherlock moan.

“No! Don’t wake up, now!” He chanted in a low voice.

The chairs in the corner were not high enough to block the door handle.

He needed something else.

A moment later he spotted a wooden box that was in one of the counters that held chains and whatever. It looked like it could fit and when John tried it, it wasn’t perfect but would keep someone from entering for some time.

He turned to Sherlock.

The other man was deathly pale and his fingers twitched. He might come to soon and if he started to move it could be the death of him.

John needed to act fast!


	3. Trusting John

Sherlock woke with a start.

He was on his back and someone had placed something over his mouth and nose.

In reflex he tried to roll over to land on his knees, expecting to fall from his bed with the movement. His usually fluent and gracious movements were abruptly stopped even before he had lifted his back from the ground for merely five centimeters.

The pain in his thigh knocked all the air out off his lungs.

He was already on some hard ground and now fell back flat. Somebody cursed nearby…... John. There was weight on his legs.

“Shhh….”

Someone grabbed his arm and held him to the ground. “Sherlock…. Be quiet. No need to broadcast our position by making unnecessary noise…. And it is _very_ important you do **not** try to move.”

“John?” He moaned.

_Oh god, he sounded pathetic, what had happened to his leg?_

_They were in an odd room, on the floor, it was hard…. Cold, he was so cold._

There was enough light to move around and do general things, though it was not bright. He looked around.

_The dungeon!_

His memories came back and he gasped.

_Had they been taken hostage?_

_They had been attacked…._

“You need to let me take care of that leg, stay on your back, I am gonna give you something for the pain.”

He had missed something, he realized, when John covered him with an expensive blanket. He tried to  sit up and see his leg. John gripped his arm, surprisingly firm.

“No, do _not_ move. You need to lie back.” John tried to make him lie down with more force than Sherlock expected.

“Wha for?”

“I need to take care of that leg.”

“You alrea’y said’at….”

“I need to get the knife out.”

“Knife? Here?…. Are they stillout’ere?”

“I don’t know. They?”

“What? Wha not? Wha happened?”

“I followed him but then suspected he was luring behind the corner….”

“Wha don’ you know if they are still ou’there, then?”

“I locked us in here and called Lestrade….”

“Why don’t yougo look then an make sure?” He tried to get up again.

This time he managed to look down at his legs.

It was dark, but he spotted a shape draped over his lower legs that looked like a sandbag, weighting them down.

The thing was odd, made of black leather with eyelets and snap hooks, metal chains were attached but lay useless around it on the ground. His legs were tied to a metal rod with… bondage rope to keep them in a straight position and prevent movement that way effectively.

“Dammit Sherlock, don’t move!” the soldier sounded angry and slightly panicked. “Because, Sherlock, it is very important right now that you do NOT disturb that knife! I need to take a look at that wound.”

Sherlock felt weak and the pain was fogging his mind, he gave in and let his head rest on the hard ground. Now trying to make his body feel less of the input from his leg and block out the pain.

John put a small pillow under his head.

“If you do a wrong move the blade could cut your artery and kill you without me having the chance to help you, so be absolutely still whatever I do, and follow my instructions!… Will you do that?….” John sounded as if he had switched to some emergency doctor mode.

“Where is the second man?”

“What?”

“There are two!” Sherlock moaned in desperation.

_Why didn’t John get this?_

“The room is clear, bathroom, too. Door is blocked with a chair…. Will you follow my instructions?”

“Call Lestrade…. Warn him.”

“I need you to follow my instructions!”

“Call Lestrade for god’s sake.” Sherlock was getting agitated.

“Fuck, OK, OK!” John fetched his phone and dialed while he was rummaging though the emergency bag. “Dammit! The line is busy.”

“Texthim.” Sherlock ordered and John hurried to type, then laid the phone down.

“Will you follow my instructions now?”

“Wha will you do?”

“I will give you something for the pain and then get the knife out. If you bleed I will find the blood vessel and fix it fast. I need you to be absolutely still for that and the only option I have right here to do that is somewhat…. antique, so don’t be alarmed, I did this before, it’s not pleasant but it will work.”

Now Sherlock was alarmed… John was kneeling over his head and when he reached for something Sherlock for the first time registered the funny smell in the air.

The moment John gently bent his head back and placed a cloth over his nose and mouth Sherlock realized it was chloroform.

_For God’s sake…._

He instinctively started to struggle.

“Bloody hell, don’t move I said!” One hand pressed gently down on the cloth, the other hard on his chest. "Come on Sherlock…. Just do some deep breaths and relax….. please….”

Sherlock moved his face from one side to the other and found he held his breath.

“Stop moving, you are gonna kill yourself….. Don’t hold your breath, come on…. Look at me Sherlock!”

The genius detective tried to overrule the automatism that had kicked in and had made him struggle. He tried to look at John and found he had closed his eyes.

“Look at me!” John repeated.

He opened his eyes, still holding his breath…. And found John’s eyes in the semi-dark. John looked pale and tense.

“Sherlock, you need to breathe. Just do it…. We can’t risk that you flinch when I do this….”

Sherlock frowned in pain and disgust … and something else he couldn’t point out yet. His hand moved to John’s, that one over his mouth and slowly wrapped his fingers around the doctor’s wrist. He felt himself fighting against the impulse to drag the hand away.

“I’m sorry there is no other way. Don’t fight it. Come on, I will take care of everything. My weapon is at my side and fully loaded. It will only take five minutes to do this, we will be OK. Relax and breathe.”

John saw the panic and the fight in Sherlock’s eyes. To be put under in these circumstances and give away control like this, this was a nightmare for the other man.

“Come on.” John lifted his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder since Sherlock was not struggling any longer, but he was not breathing either.

He rested his other hand on Sherlock’s forehead and tried to speak in a soothing voice.

“Just let it happen. It will be fine.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched when the need to breathe became more and more urgent. John saw his left hand twitch and then clench to a fist at his side.

Suddenly Sherlock’s right hand moved over his and pressed the fabric down onto the genius’ face and he then drew a slow, trembling breath.

 _Here we go._ John pressed his lips when he saw the odd mixture of mental agony and trust in Sherlock’s eyes that were still staring up to him.

“Careful, you need to let some oxygen in, too…… Normal breaths….. That’s it…. This will take several deep breaths, if you allow it to work and don’t fight it, it will be less unpleasant.”

Sherlock sucked in air rapidly, now seeming to try to get it over with as fast as he could.

“Slow down, don’t breathe too fast, it’s no good to irritate your lungs.”

But then Sherlock’s eyes widened in panic.

“It’s ok, it might feel as if you can’t breathe, that’s normal, just go on….. just keep breathing normally.” John soothed. “And close your eyes, they might not like the substance.”

But Sherlock continued to stare up at him.

John didn’t break eye contact and smiled down at him.

Sherlock’s whole body tensed even more and when it started fighting the proceedings, he was trembling now.

“No! Easy. It’s ok, relax.” He moved his thumb over Sherlock’s hair and hoped it would work fast. “You are OK, easy. Let go.”

Sherlock’s breathing sped up and John was prepared he might struggle, but Sherlock’s eyes just showed exhaustion and pain now, and a great effort to suppress the urge to break free.

If Sherlock didn’t let go mentally, this would not work properly.

Then, blinking fast in distress, John saw he was surrendering slowly.

“That’s it. Just go with it.” John continued the slow stroking of Sherlock’s hairline.

Several now slower blinks later his eyes finally stayed shut… and then John felt him relax slowly under his hands.

“It’s OK, everything will be fine.” The doctor tried to accompany him while he slowly lost consciousness. He reached for the chloroform bottle and removed Sherlock’s slack hand from his, then wet one of the cloths with the anesthetic again and placed it back over the other, which was coarse meshed and meant to prevent direct contact to the patient’s face.

Several seconds later Sherlock started breathing regularly. He needed to wait some more and while doing so he slipped into a pair of gloves and pulled a facemask over his face. He prepared the emergency kit’s tools and the other instruments by washing them with iodine, just to be sure. Two minutes later he had everything prepared and put a third dose of chloroform to the cloth.

He cut open the trousers and then poured iodine around the protruding hilt. When Sherlock didn’t even flinch he was quite sure he was under enough. He lifted his eyelids to check the eyes and listened to his breathing.

_OK so far._

There were sutures ready next to the doctor, as well as six different types of clamps… and his weapon.

He listened for thirty seconds for any signs of trouble outside and then decided to start.

Then John switched on the bright cleaning lights and inspected the wound once more. The knife was close to one of the arteries. He hoped Sherlock’s arteries had not grown on that exact spot.

It looked like a standard tactical knife, so the blade would probably be formed straight. He grabbed the hilt and slowly poured out the weapon. It was an ugly thing with a partly serrated edge.

It bled…. It bled a lot, but not as bad as it would have with a cut main artery.

John sighed with relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested how anastesia worked back then when done with chloroform go to youtube and search for: Open drop ether: No. 2 (1944)  
> There's a series of black and white educational films (loads of other historical anatesia methods explained in following parts) which shows how ether, chloroform or nitrous oxide anastesia was done, just in case you are interested where I found the information. I have no medical education but was curious if it really worked like in the movies... and well... not really from what I saw. Don't try this at home ;)


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is confronted with an unexpected disturbance.

John sighed with relieve.

Though the thing was messy overall the wound was a clean cut and the knife had been clean as far as he could see.

Although he cursed about not having enough hands during the process, he managed to slow the bleeding down.

While he was fixing one of the bleeding vessels a memory sprang into the front of his mind.

“Shit!….. Shit, shit.” He cursed. “Not now!”

He felt bad things heading his way when memories of a vicious night in the desert assaulted him.

Early in his second tour they had run into an ambush.

_No!_

He needed to shove this away and stay in reality.

He would not be a good help for Sherlock if he surrendered to a flashback right now!

Half the boys of his unit were wounded, but what made the night truly horrible was when he lost one of the youngest team-members. He died with John’s hand inside him, the warm blood pulsing against John’s cold hands.

The doctor had felt it when the heart had stopped. He had not been able to find the source of the bleeding fast enough, he tried CPR and fought like mad to safe him, even made one of the other team members help him trying to close the ruptured artery.

He had been so concentrated and desperate his commanding officer had slapped him hard in the face to tell him there was no chance to save that boy and that others needed his help more.

John had been sick twice after taking care of the other wounded comrades.

Then he had needed help himself because shock had set in when he saw how badly wounded the young soldier really had been, there was more missing than left of his body. He hadn’t slept for days after that.

John tried to remind himself they were just memories and they wouldn’t harm him, his therapist had told him that again and again and again.

He huffed in sarcasm right now, because if he would lose it right now there would be harm.

_Sherlock would be harmed!_

_Shit!_

He bit his lip and tried to concentrate, looked at the BDSM equipment frequently to remind himself where he was. The room was so different from any environment he had ever been in, it was quite helpful.

_No bad memories there._

He found another small source of bleeding and looked at Sherlock’s face and the hand he had positioned in a way to see any twitching immediately to make sure he was still under enough.

The detective’s trust had amazed him, maybe even hurt him a bit because he didn’t trust himself this much any longer. Before his PTSD he had, now he was struggling to get it back in very small pieces. The job at the surgery was definitely helping.

John knotted a few stitches and fought against another wave of memories that tried to flood his mind. The insides of an emergency care tent in the outskirts of a small town where they had been called.

It had all been so unsanitary.

… and this floor was a bit unsanitary here, too. He had done his best to sterilize everything he used on Sherlock but…

…. so many soldiers had died because of not properly sterilized surgical instruments because the supplies had been cut off and there was no water and no alcohol and they had tried to do the cleaning with heat but… it had been a very hard week and he had lost so many of them due to infection.

_Sherlock would not die!_

They would find meds and a good surgeon soon….. he just needed to make sure the genius was fit for transport and keep him safe until help arrived.

_Dammit!_

He felt like a mental case once more, hadn’t felt like this for months. They had been in dark situations Sherlock and him but this was different, this was having a hand inside a warm bleeding being again, afraid that that being might die.

“Shit, get a grip!" He hissed to himself. “Concentrate. Not going there!”

It would only need a few more minutes to close this in a transport-safe way, extra accurate, and double check for more severe symptoms and that nothing else life threatening was damaged.

A short time later, he was suturing the skin with tentative stitches.

Sherlock’s breathing changed, indicating he would be back soon.

The former army medic was alleviated and tired, lucky it had worked, lucky they weren’t disturbed, glad Sherlock had trusted him enough to go under… and glad he had kept his memories at bay.

Yes, they had surprised and shocked him, but he had managed… they were present but not threatening any longer.

He removed the cloths from Sherlock’s face and put them in a bin with a lid.

On his way back he stopped in the middle of the room and listened to the hallway once more.

No sounds.

He bandaged the wound and then got rid of the gloves. After checking Sherlock’s pupils he repositioned his limbs gently and removed the rope that tied the unharmed leg to the other. The hurt one he left restrained, then rolled the consulting detective into the recovery position. In case Sherlock gets sick he bent his head back and fetched some towels from the bathroom. After he had wrapped his friend in several layers of warm blankets he sat down in a way that provided easy access to his head.

They were in a strategically good position here, the couch provided cover and could not bee seen from the door. He felt he was still in battle mode. Only now realizing how profoundly he had switched into it. He was cold. He would feel like shit when the adrenaline wears of… and he would have nightmares.

He was still dreaming of Afghanistan a lot and this probably would not make it better.

He checked Sherlock’s vitals once more and then switched off the light and waited. It didn’t even took a minute before Sherlock started to move.

“You are OK, Sherlock, wake up.”

Sherlock panted softly in response. John took his wrist and held it at the pulse point, his other hand now on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Come back to me, it’s time to wake up.”

Sherlock’s soft moan disturbed the silence and he stirred. John reached for his phone and placed it on the floor two feet over Sherlock’s head.

“Sherlock… Are you are with me?”

Sherlock hummed, maybe tried to speak.

John was aware of how exhausted, dizzy and nauseous chloroform anesthesia made the patient. Sherlock must be pretty uncomfortable right now.

He searched the bag for painkillers again but found nothing. With any luck the ambulance crew would be here in a few minutes.

Sherlock made a half-conscious sobbing noise and his hands started to flail.

“Shhh… you are gonna be fine.”

“Ghh….” Sherlock’s breathing sped up.

“Relax, you are gonna be fine… Ambulance will be here any minute.”

He knelt down next to the suffering consulting detective and rested one hand on his head and the other held his wrist to feel his pulse.

John knew a heavy hand on the head calmed and soothed patients and he tried it.

“I know you feel regurgitated right now but you will be fine. Relax.”

“Reurgiated an spittout.” Sherlock mumbled weakly.

John sighed, Sherlock was conscious and responding. His color had improved slightly but he was still clammy and trembling.

“Will be better soon.” John stroked his thumb over Sherlock’s hairline.

Suddenly there was loud yelling in the hallway, very near the door.

John jumped up, reached for his weapon and pointed it at the door, adrenaline pumping again.

Then more noises and ….. more yelling.

John felt his heart beat like mad while he moved in between Sherlock and the door.


	5. Paramedics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help is finally there.

Ten seconds later there was hasty knocking at the door.

“John? Open up.” Lestrade’s voice.

John hurried to remove the blockade and opened the door.

Greg entered the room, raising his hands when he saw John with the weapon.

John let his hands fall and returned to Sherlock’s side, Greg followed and knelt down, too. When his eyes fell onto the puddle of blood, the bloody gauze and used instruments all over the floor and John’s bloody jumper the DI’s face paled.

“Bloody hell, how…. How is he?”

John felt Lestrade’s shock but answered with a question.

“You have them both?”

“Yes. Good thing with the text. Ta.”

“I managed to stop the bleeding and make him ready for transport, but he needs proper surgery. He lost some blood.”

“Some?”

“We need some good pain medication here.”

“You did this without…. Oh God.”

“John….” Sherlock’s voice was a bit unnerved and weak.

“No I didn’t. I found chloroform. Not nice but effective.”

Paramedics ran into the room, and John could see their surprise.

_Had no one told them where they were going?_

“He is a doctor, listen to him.” Lestrade ordered and stepped back.

“I prepped him for transport, he needs surgery, stabbing wound.” John pointed at the bloody knife. “In to the hilt. No major vessels damaged, most of the bleeding is stopped, chloroform anesthesia, I need some heavy duty pain meds.” John reported while the blonde paramedic opened his bag and handed him a packed cannula and started to unwrap Sherlock’s body from the blankets. He fastened a blood pressure cuff around Sherlock’s arm with fast and precise movements.

John wiped Sherlock’s hand with alcohol and inserted the catheter.

The genius detective dully blinked at him, watched every move.

The second paramedic was unwrapping Sherlock from the pile of blankets to inspect… the bandage probably.

“What the hell?” He muttered when he saw the leg bound to the metal rod that had eyelets at its ends and was probably made for fixing the legs or arms of a person in an outstretched position.

“I had to make sure he did not move until I had the bleeding stopped, that was all that was available.”

“You are quite inventive, aren’t you?” the paramedic grinned.

“I was a surgeon in the army, Afghanistan. You need to be inventive when you try to save lives while being shot at…. Sherlock, we will give you something for the pain, relax, mate.”

“Morphine?” The other paramedic asked.

“No.” Sherlock moaned, lifting his head in alarm.

“It’s OK, stay calm.”

“No, something strong but non-opioid, what have you got?”

More personal entered the room with a stretcher and then several policeman followed. Suddenly it was a lot of chaos and many voices. They untied Sherlock’s legs while John taped down the catheter.

Sherlock was getting unnerved with four people touching him John realized, but before he could interfere Lestrade yelled "OK, everyone except the medical personal wait outside.”

Sherlock flinched and John tried to make the paramedics aware this was too much.

“He doesn’t like to be touched.” John said while taking the syringe the other paramedic offered, then injected the clear liquid into the IV port.

“Antiemetic, too, please.” 

Sherlock’s eyes had not left his face and when John looked into the genius’ eyes there was something …. new…. and emotional in there.

John injected the second medication a few moments later, watching Sherlock’s face closely. The injured man blinked and John rested his hand on the side of his head again.

“This will be better in a sec. Relax.”

Sherlock closed his eyes.

The doctor felt him relax minutely and then something happened that he had not expected. A tear escaped Sherlock’s closed eye and fell to the towel.

“It’s gonna be OK.”

John was profoundly alarmed about this tiny detail and simultaneously hoped he was the only one who had seen this, and that it was from the chloroform that had irritated his eyes. They had been kind of red since Sherlock opened them after the procedure.

An oxygen mask appeared in front of him and he gently placed it over Sherlock’s head. “Caution with this, he might vomit from the chloroform…. Are you nauseous, Sherlock?”

The consultant detective minutely shook his head and John bent down and spoke in a low voice.

“Are you in distress, you need something else? Are you feeling panic?”

Sherlock shook his head once more and John kept his hand on his head.

“Ready for transport?”

“Give the painkiller a moment.” John suggested, sitting up.

The other two paramedics that had come in later were preparing the stretcher.

“You are OK, doctor?” One of the paramedics asked.

“Yeah.. Yes, of course.”

“You look peaky.”

“I’m fine, just the adrenaline wearing of.”

“OK, let’s turn him on his back.” One of the men suggested.

When they gently turned Sherlock into a supine position he gave a low moan and then went limp.

“He’s out. Come on, hurry.” One of the older medics ordered and the activity level in the room rose suddenly.

They lifted him onto the stretcher and moments later headed out the door. John followed and barely heard Greg shout “See you at the hospital, mate.” after him.


	6. At the hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John suffers a breakdown.

John rode with the ambulance and gave them everything they wanted to know. He had pattered that he was a surgeon and had served and then minutely described what he had done and why and how.

The ambulance crew raised their eyebrows here and there and seemed impressed and horrified. He assured them he had taken his time to sterilize everything and had done things in the field and that emergency care in a war was sometimes a bit maverick.

After what felt like ages they arrived at the ER and Sherlock was unloaded. He had not regained consciousness. John let himself fall into a chair in the waiting area after he had signed the papers.

He hadn’t sat there for about four minutes when a fully clad surgeon came towards him.

“Dr Watson?”

“Yes?” He stood up, fearing this was no good. “Problems?”

“No… no! Don’t worry. Everything is fine. I’d like you to come to the theatres observation area so that if questions arise I can ask you right away how and why you did things. I read the crew’s report but I’d prefer to have you there to be honest. Field surgery is different and I’d love to hear your explanations and surely this can only be to the patients benefit and smoothen the procedure.”

“Oh….” This was not what John had expected. “Sure.”

John was led to the observation room, from which he had a very good view of the operating table and what was going on down there. The nurse showed him how to use the intercom and left.

The anesthetist was just putting Sherlock under when the surgeon entered.

John was not eager to talk, he was just tired and wanted Sherlock to be safe.

A few minutes later the surgeon started to open the temporary stitches and asked John to explain the details of the injury and how he had dealt with the pressing needs.

The former army doctor knew the muscle was damaged and that needed to be taken care of in detail, he had only made sure Sherlock would not bleed too much and circulation was sufficient until surgery.

When he listed the stitches he had made and the points that needed checking the surgeon told him he was honored to work with him. John didn’t know what to say, his adrenaline pumping once more when he remembered how Sherlock’s blood had flowed over his gloved fingers and it had felt so much like being back in the desert, wrist deep in dying young man, desperately trying to safe their lives.

Suddenly the door opened and someone entered the dark room, the only light came from the large windows that looked down into the OR.

“What’s happening?” Greg’s voice.

“They are operating… and I am explaining what I did.” John answered, glad he was not alone here any longer.

“How is he doing?”

“Good…. Looks good.”

“You don’t look good, John…” Greg mumbled.

“I’m fine… they needed to know what I did and why… We needed to make sure they didn’t overlook anything I only fixed temporarily. I am glad they are this thorough and professional.”

“All stitches from emergency surgery removed and accounted for, twenty-seven in total, correct Dr. Watson?”

“Yes. I did twenty-seven stitches and knots.”

“Well done, Doctor. I think we will now take care of the fine vessels and muscles, this will take some time, if you’d like to get some peace and quite feel free to do so, just tell me when you leave.”

“Yes, thank you.” John spoke into the intercom.

“Really, twenty-seven?” Greg looked shocked.

“It’s not really that much…. Couldn’t risk he would start to bleed again, could I?”

“Come on, let’s get you some coffee then, you look like death warmed over.” Greg suggested.

John felt he was shaking when he tried to step back from the windows.

“John?” Lestrade’s voice sounded muffled and John realized the floating feeling he experienced was no good.

“Greg?…” He exhaled through his wide open mouth, trying to calm himself down. He headed towards the exit.

“John, what is it?”

John felt Greg’s hand on his shoulder, but the DI sounded as if from underwater.

John realized shock was catching up with him.

“PTSD, adrenaline wearing off…. had Flashbacks in the dungeon, delayed shock…” John heard himself stammer as if the voice belonged to someone else.

“Don’t feel so good…. Greg… Shit… I….”

He tried to hold onto the DI but he was trembling too much, he had problems to keep himself from falling, and then he felt he was held tight and upright. He had barely registered that when his knees finally gave way.

“It’s OK, mate, it’s OK…” Greg sounded far from OK.

“I need help in here!” Greg yelled and John flinched.

“Nurse!” Greg yelled through the opened door.

John felt Sherlock’s warm blood pulse over his hand again, himself screaming for a nurse to hold down a prancing patient in order to save his life.

A moment later he realized he was on the ground and hands where all over him.

John heard someone repeat his own words.

“PTSD,….  Adrenaline, ….. Flashback, …. reported delayed shock, former surgeon and soldier….”

He tried to sit up but hands where holding him down.

“Shhhh, relax John… You are OK. ”

Someone shone a light into his left eye, then the other.

“He’s in shock…. Disoriented…. Maybe Combative…  We need a sedative here.” Someone yelled.

“No…” He managed to mumble but someone held his thrashing head.

“Not combative… no sedation… please don’t…” John stammered when he felt panic creep into his stomach.

“OK… he’s… responsive…. Calm down Dr Watson.”

“You are fine, John… everything’s OK.”

He felt a prick on the back of his hand and moments later the world shifted and spun around him. In reflex he tried to hold onto something to keep himself from falling.

“Relax!” A foreign voice ordered and he felt he was lifted.

“You are suffering from delayed shock… just relax, you are OK!”

Something warm was spread over him.

“No…. please…” He managed to moan.

“t’s OK, John… It’s OK… Sherlock’s gonna be alright.” He heard Greg from far away and his hand was held.

When the ceiling started to pass by and he felt sick from the foreign movement, he tried to roll onto his side, just in case.

But then he suddently heard people yelling and cursing and again there were hands on him all over. Someone fumbled with his hand … and moments later the world faded away.


	7. Recovery

When John woke the first thing he saw was Greg sitting in a chair next to his bed, he had obviously fallen asleep there, his head resting on one hand.

John blinked, he was on his right side and the rest of the room missed another bed. He felt exhausted and hung over somehow.

His hand wandered up to the bridge of his nose, he massaged it in the vague hope the headache would lessen by that. He looked down his body searching for injuries. Since he was in a hospital and could not remember what had happened this was the logical path of action.

He frowned when he realized he was on a hospital bed and gown but neither ached nor were there any lines connected to the IV port in his hand.

He was cold and where was Sherlock?

“Greg?” His voice was hoarse and barely a whisper, but it was enough to wake the DI.

“Hey! Nice to have you around again, mate.”

“What happened?… Where’s Sherlock?”

“He will be here in a few minutes I hope. Last I heard he was in recovery and fine. They will bring him up as soon as he is ready.”

“What?” John sat up too fast and flinched when the headache and tired muscles protested fiercely.

“It’s OK, you are both gonna be fine, John.” Greg held him by the shoulders now, probably to make sure he wouldn’t fall out of the bed. “You removed the knife from his leg and helped the surgeons here operating on him.”

John tried to dig deeper into his memories to remember while the DI raised the head of the bed with the remote.

“BDSM club, suspect hiding, stabbed Sherlock in the thigh….?” Greg tried to jog his memories.

Then suddenly it all came back to John in a rush.

John let himself sink back into the now raised pillows.

“Er, shit….” He commented the onslaught.

“You went into delayed shock or something after you helped the surgeons and when they tried to transport you somewhere they could take care of you. Thing is, you almost fell off the gurney, so they sedated  you… Sorry about that.”

John grimaced, he vaguely remembered now.

Tiredly, he rubbed his hands over his face to wake up some more.

When he opened his eyes again Greg held out a glass with water.

“Ta.” John murmured and took it. “So it went well?”

Greg nodded.

“Did you call Mycroft?”

“Yes…. He actually made sure you both share a room for tonight.”

“What? They want to keep me here? I’m fine!”

“Actually I think they didn’t but Mycroft told them you would stay with Sherlock anyway so they could spare themselves a lot of shitty Sherlock behavior and give you two a room so you could keep each other busy.”

“Great.” John grinned sarcastically. Mycroft knew them too well, with his brother this was not too odd, but with John….

“How are you doing?”

“Where are my clothes?”

“They needed to remove them to make sure you weren’t hurt. They are ruined. I think they wanted you to be more comfortable without the blood all over them…. Besides they needed to keep you warm.”

“Hm.” John nodded. “Great.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing Greg, thanks….” John now remembered that Greg had been with him and tried to comfort him before. “Thanks for being here.”

“How do you feel?”

“A bit groggy and tired from the medication but other than that… fine.”

“We caught them both, was a bit of a chaos, but thanks to your text we knew there were two, very helpful, really…”

Greg entertained John by telling him the whole story of the arrest in minute detail and John was quite aware he probably wanted to divert him from worrying about the consulting detective.

When Greg finally reached the point when the police had knocked at the door to the room John and Sherlock were hidden in, there was a knock on the door and seconds later a bed was wheeled in.

It contained an unconscious and pale Sherlock.

“How is he?” The former army doctor sat up and besieged the closest nurse.

“He’s fine. You are Dr Watson, right?”

“Yeah, will he make a full recovery?”

“There will be a scar and he will need PT but we are sure he will not suffer from any long lasting limitations. A doctor will brief you later. He was a bit …. not happy when he resurfaced in recovery and we gave him some heavy duty painkillers to help him rest.”

“Ehm... you read the file… no opioids?” John asked a bit troubled.

“Yes, no opioids, we were informed, it is in his file, too. His brother called. He also told us to listen to you.”

“Oh. Did he?” John wondered what that was supposed to mean.

“He told us you know how to handle his stubborn behavior quite well.” The nurse gave a knowing smile.

“Yes, great….” John rolled his eyes.

“He will be out for some more hours. Do you need anything?”

John shook his head.

_What did they give him to knock him out for hours?_

“OK then. Get some rest.”

When the group of nurses had connected Sherlock to all the monitors and settled him in  they left, telling them they should press the button the moment he wakes up or if there is any trouble at all.

John nodded, leaning back into the bumpy pillows.

“You want to get some sleep?” Greg asked. “Might be the last chance. As soon as he is up our day will get a lot more exhausting. I can get you two some clothes and come back with them later.”

John’s sense of time was fully haywired and he didn’t even care. Sherlock was here, he seemed partially fine…. He was tired and his headache was getting worse by the minute.

“OK, yeah, sounds good. I’d love to have some stuff. Get our laptops and some pajamas and we both need pants and shirts, just get what you think we need or asked Mrs. Hudson to pack some stuff.”

Greg stood up.

“OK, will be back in the early afternoon. Want me to tell Mrs. Hudson or do you prefer to call her?”

“I will. One more thing…You have spend time in a hospital with Sherlock before?”

“Yes….” Greg seemed reluctant to share that particular memory.

“Was he that bad?”

“If you mean by bad he behaved bad, yeah, bit… If you mean he almost died bad… That aspect was what I meant actually… Well, in both ways bad… it was a long time ago. I’d prefer if you asked him about it…” Greg finished.

“Oh, OK, sure.” John agreed.

“Get some rest and tell that idiot I want his full report in the late afternoon… that might keep him from making the nurses throw fits for at least two hours… and give you time for some peace and quiet. Night.” He raised his hand as a greeting and vanished silently.

John was still cold, the dim light and the beeping of the heart-monitor lulled him into sleep within a few moments.


	8. Anesthesia aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up at the hosptial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long, but RL was just too awkward to concentrate on writing.

John woke with a start, soft noises of distress entering his consciousness.

When he remembered he was in hospital room with Sherlock he jerked upright.

The noises came from the wounded detective!

The light was dimmed but enough to see the room clearly, and the doctor hurried to get out of the high bed, cursing the hospital issued nightgown.

Sherlock’s leg had been elevated on a special large pillow that also stabilized and immobilized it, but the man had tried to curl onto his side which was hindered by the cushion and therefore he was in an awkward twisted position.

John was glad the leg had not been jostled too much, though the position of the genius was not good at all, they’d need to put him back into a properly supine resting position.

Sherlock looked not good, pale and his face in a painful frown. He was obviously either dreaming or in a half conscious state fighting bad memories.

“Sherlock?” John addressed him.

The genius man’s hand twitched and John was afraid he might pull on the IV line if this got a bit more intense, he took Sherlock’s hand slowly.

“Hey, Sherlock, can you look at me?”

Sherlock gave a small whimper that made John’s toenails curl up. The other man looked so vulnerable and lost, and horrified by something.

“Sherlock, come on, we are at the hospital, open your eyes for me.”

The detective’s breathing speed up and John looked over at the monitors, assessing what was happening.

Sherlock’s distress was growing, and the only thing John could think of to soothe him was putting his hand on Sherlock’s hairline.

Sherlock stilled only a few moments later, the touch must be getting through.

“J’n?” His voice was raw and hoarse from the intubation tube.

“It’s OK, Sherlock. You are in the hospital. You feel disoriented from the aftereffects of anesthesia.”

But instead of calming down Sherlock’s breathing became more agitated.

His eyes suddenly jerked open and he sucked in air in great gulps.

“What’s going on? Relax…. Hey….. Hey, look at me.”

It took some moments until Sherlock’s roaming eyes settled on his, but they didn’t really focus.

What was freaking Sherlock out?

“Hey, concentrate. Come on, what’s wrong?”

Sherlock seemed to use all his willpower to force his breathing into a slower pattern, but the doctor saw the huge amount of discipline it took, and the rasping painful breaths made him wince with sympathy.

He grimaced when he realized Sherlock might be reminded of being put under with chloroform.

“I will call the nurse to get you some painkillers.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he shook his head in what might be described as panic.

“Talk to me then, what’s going on?”

The consultant detective opened his mouth, but it seemed the words didn’t come. The horror in his eyes made something click into place.

Being wounded and having anesthesia sometimes produced a feeling of some ungraspable horror lurking somewhere. The physical trauma affecting unconscious thoughts which manifested in anxiety. John remembered that feeling quite well.

“Ehm, hey, listen… I know what you are feeling……. I’ve been there….. It feels horrible, but Sherlock…. it’s OK. It will pass, you are gonna be fine. Try not to think of how it feels for a moment, it’s doing no good to linger on that, concentrate on my voice and try to stay with me….. Come on.”

John moved his thumb up and down over his friend's furrowed brow.

Slowly Sherlock’s breathing eased a fraction.

“Come on, relax.”

Sherlock looked up at him with the same trust he had shown right before John had put him under. For his housemate this must have been mind altering, being so vulnerable and give away control.

It was a huge proof of trust that he had allowed John to do it, and the former army doctor had seen in his eyes what it had cost him to make this step.

John felt he had been gifted with something special. He knew Sherlock would not grant this to anyone else. It was a huge thing what had happened between them in that deserted club.

John leaned a bit closer and removed his hand from Sherlock’s head.

“You did great, Sherlock. It’s all good. This will heal…. And thank you for the trust you put in me." John smiled down at him and Sherlock slowly blinked at him. John was sure as soon as the anxiety would lessen the genius would slip back into an exhausted sleep.

“How is the pain?”

But Sherlock didn’t answer, just stared up at him, not reacting.

John did another stroke to his brow to get his attention, but Sherlock just closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

“’ve been better.” He murmured, barely understandable.

John pressed the button, calling the nurse, without removing his hand. The detective seemed to react in a positive way to this kind of touch and if he had found something that soothed Sherlock he would use it.

“Scotland Yard caught them, due to your efforts, and Lestrade is expecting a report later.”

“Our…”

“What?”

“Our efforts, I did very litl to save day.”

A second later the nightshift nurse came in. She was a quiet person and neither bustled in nor storm them with questions, she slowly neared the bed and noticed all the readings thoroughly and in silence. Then noted them in the file.

When John mouthed ‘painkillers?’ at her she nodded and disappeared.

John continued to talk to the wounded man soothingly, but he could see the pain and the fight Sherlock was going through in his facial expression, a thin sheen of sweat underlined the distress, as was the now shallow breathing.

“Hey, you want to lie on your back in a more relaxed position?” John suggested.

Sherlock still had his eyes closed, but minutely shook his head, then, he tried to turn onto his side more properly.

“No. Don’t!… Stop!” John blurted out as soon as he realized Sherlock was trying to curl up even more.

The detective winced in pain and desperation when John stopped the movement and kept the damaged leg in place.

“Sorry, but you shouldn’t move that leg, yet. You might do some severe damage. Don’t move.”

Sherlock made some more distraught noises and John felt the desperate need to put him under and stop his torment.

To his relief the nurse reappeared a moment later, syringe in hand. Without warning she injected the liquid into Sherlock’s IV line.

Normally patients didn’t react to that, especially not because she did it slow and careful, but Sherlock did, tried to pull away. She had foreseen it and held onto his hand firmly.

Sherlock groaned and started to get more agitated again, his eyes jerking open.

“Shhhh, you are fine, honey.” She muttered in a low voice.

But her foreign voice seemed to stress out the man even more.

John gripped his other hand, holding onto it and making soothing noises.

When the consulting detective started to become more agitated again, trying to get rid of the touch John looked up at the nurse questioningly.

She nodded and let go of Sherlock’s hand, then discarded the used syringe.

When she returned to the bed, she put a flat hand to her cheek and tilted her head, showing John that the medication would put Sherlock to sleep, too.

The doctor’s gaze returned to Sherlock’s pale face and the look of desperation on his face shocked him a bit.

“Sherlock, it’s OK to feel like this after anesthesia, just relax, it’s gonna be fine.”

John put his hand back at Sherlock’s hairline, who slowly blinked several times. John assumed the medication was starting to take effect.

Moments later Sherlock’s heartbeat sped up, clearly audible due to the beeping of the monitors.

“Shhh, it’s OK, just slip back into sleep.” He tried to calm down his friend.

But the opposite happened, Sherlock grew more and more agitated.

He and the nurse held his chest down carefully when Sherlock’s head jerked from side to side, John losing grip on it.

“Sherlock, look at me!” John ordered. “Hey mate, look at me!” He repeated in a military tone when Sherlock ignored him.

That finally made the man in the bed open his eyes wide and focus on him.

“That’s better.” John praised. “Just concentrate. You are fine. Relax. I’m here, I won’t leave. Just sleep and get better.”

“No….” Sherlock moaned.

“Sherlock… relax.” John stared him in the dazed eyes and Sherlock stared back at him.

The wounded man fought to take a deeper breath, then another, and a moment later John saw his eyes roll back slowly and felt his friend let go.

Another proof of trust, another occasion where he followed the doctor’s orders.

John strokes his hairline.

“That’s it, just let go.” He said in a calming voice.

Sherlock exhaled slowly and was out a moment later.

John and the nurse waited two more minutes to make sure he really was, then gently manhandled him back into a prone resting position.

Before the nurse vanished she handed John a warm bathrobe and smiled at him.

“Maybe we should add some meds to counteract the anxiety in the morning.”

“Yeah, I will put it in the file. Anesthesia does that.”

“Right. Thanks.”

John nodded briefly and wrapped the warm thing around his shoulder, but then his concentration returned to the man in the bed.

Sherlock slept through the night without further incidents and John finally returned to his own bed in the early hours of the morning, when he was finally sure Sherlock would rest comfortably. But it took quite some time until he finally managed to slip into sleep, the events had not only shaken Sherlock, but him, too.


	9. Epilogue

The next time Sherlock woke it was shortly before breakfast and this time it was rather how John expected it to be within the normal range.

Sherlock’s panic and stress were gone, although he was getting unnerved by the pain as well as with the inability to move freely.

John couldn’t manage to make him eat the tiniest bit of the meal, expect the tea, and finally gave up.

All in all the time at the hospital was heavy on them both. John was released in the afternoon of the same day, but Sherlock had to stay for another week. John visited him for extended amounts of time, but after seven days he was ready to agree if Sherlock tried to sign out AMA.

Treating him at home would just be so much easier on them both, though it would probably lengthen the recovery because Sherlock would behave as if nothing had happened, overdoing it. But it would be better for John’s nerves, Sherlock’s state of mind, and the whole hospital staff would probably be grateful, too.

So John agreed and Sherlock was released, under two conditions: appropriate PT twice a week and no cases until John allowed it.

The moment they arrived at 221b Sherlock’s mood changed noticeable for the better, much to John’s relief.

Though the wounded man suffered nightmares that seemed to be quite horrible he never mentioned them to the doctor, who tried to be tactful and kept the theme to himself, too, though was ready to intervene in case it was needed.

After about ten days back at the flat they had breakfast together, Sherlock had started eating normally again as soon as he was home, well, not normal for a normal person, but normal for his standards.

“You really hated the hospital food, did you?” John tried to start a conversation.

“Obviously, it is still not understandable to me how patients are supposed to get better with that kind of food. Thank you for smuggling in Chinese the third night.”

John raised his eyebrows and looked up at him. Sherlock had eaten that, though it was tentative, but had never expressed gratitude, had even behaved as if it was totally normal to have this ‘service’.

“Oh, you liked it? I thought you didn’t… you know, your reaction and all.”

“What about my reaction?”

“You behaved not really grateful, but now that you say it, you never do.”

“I was just expressing my gratitude, did you notice?”

“Yes, sorry. You could do it a bit more often, though.” John teased.

“Hmpf.” Sherlock grunted.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I am not used to people being kind, and not used to people doing things for me that I need to be grateful about.”

“You are wrong. A lot of people care about you and are nice to you, you just take it for granted… and you are rude because you do.”

“Really? Who?”

“Molly. Lestrade. Even the nurses.”

Sherlock said nothing at first, then “The nurses don’t count. It’s their job.”

“But the others do.”

“I will try to remember that… Why were you admitted?”

Now that was a thing John would rather not talk about. Sherlock had not asked before and the doctor had assumed he had been too much out of it to realize John had his own bed and was wearing a hospital gown.

“I went into delayed shock during your surgery.” John stated sheepishly.

“Did you have a flashback?”

“What makes you think I did?”

“The wound is to my leg, not my hearing. The doctor mentioned your PTSD, therefore someone had told him. You wouldn’t if it was avoidable, so it wasn’t. Since you blacked out it was probably Lestrade or it was in your file.”

The genius’ deducting abilities seemed to work more than fine, even had in his drugged state.

“Yes, I was not fine at all with the events and my sentiment or something got the better of me. Happy now?” John spit, not ready to talk about his weakest spot, his PTSD.

“No.” Sherlock simply stated.

“What?”

“Not really… I didn’t mean to…” Sherlock raised the newspaper, obviously not sure what to say. “Thank you for saving my life… and… Thank you.” He then added a bit louder some moments later.

John pushed down the paper at its middle fold a bit to be able to look into the detective’s face.

“You are welcome.” He smiled at him.

And to his surprise Sherlock smiled back, an honest smile this time, one that also carried a small portion of the extensive trust John had been given lately and it made him feel different in a positive way, like he had been given something extraordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> I'm already working on the next story, I'll leave a note here as soon as I post it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave some feedback if you enjoyed reading my stuff.


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